The Sweater
by WalnutSpirit
Summary: Aria comes down to the kitchen clad in a bold sweater, which Mike can't help but comment. Companion drabble to The T-shirt (also with H&M inspiration – clearly the place to be for fanfiction writers). One-shot.


**The Sweater**

 **Summary: Aria comes down to the kitchen clad in a bold sweater, which Mike can't help but comment. Companion drabble to The T-shirt (also with H &M inspiration – clearly the place to be for fanfiction writers). One-shot.**

* * *

Aria yawned, and stretched. She was sitting atop her bed, studying for next week's history test. Although Aria had a desk in her room, she rarely used it as one. She preferred staying on her bed to study, or even on the floor. Sitting by the desk felt too much as sitting in school, and even though it was actual school work she was focusing on, she wanted to feel at home. The desk was mostly used to store books and photographs and other knick knacks.

"Aria?" her dad called from downstairs. "Would you please come down and help with dinner?"

"Coming dad!"

She closed her book, happy to have a reason to return to the 21st century. She went downstairs and into the kitchen, where her dad, Byron was cooking, and her brother Mike was already setting the table.

"Could you make a big salad and bring out some bread and butter?" Byron asked, without turning away from the stove, where he kept concentrated eyes on the fish fillets that were frying in a pan. Aria hummed and went straight to the fridge. She brought out things to make a salad, and took up some space next to Byron. She like helping out with dinner, it was a nice family thing that she'd loved since she was a kid. Even now, after her mom had moved out and they struggled to feel like the family they once were, it was a nice reminder that maybe they could. And amongst all the crap that A pulled every other second, it was something that was untouched by the mess her life had become. There were no lies or secrets among the dinner preparations with her family, it was still hers, and still genuine.

"What are you wearing?"

Aria looked up, to see Mike staring at her sweater with a creased forehead. She looked down at her outfit. She was dressed comfortably, in tight, slightly ripped jeans and a black sweater. She had hung a couple of big earrings in her ears as well, just to get that "Aria vibe". She had not coined the phrase, but Hanna used it so often it had now stuck. It wasn't the most original of outfits, so it took Aria a second to realize what stuck out as odd to Mike.

"I like it," she said, meeting his eyes.

The sweater was black, with white, large letters reading "FEMINISM – the radical notion that women are people" on the front. Aria had picked it up last week, and she loved it. It was comfortable and simple enough to throw on top of anything, and she certainly agreed with the message. Mike rolled his eyes.

"Not at all too much," he muttered, turning to the table to put down three glasses for them. Aria shook her head, getting annoyed.

"No, it's not too much! Women _are_ people, and feminism is important!" she flared, because it was a cause that she believed in, and her brother's indifference to it got to her. That exact viewpoint that Mike was showing was the very problem, that people (she refused to think "guys", because it was both men and women, really) just shrugged or got annoyed or thought feminists were just whiny girls throwing a fit. To Aria, it wasn't. It was important.

"Alright, sorry," Mike said, in a defensive tone. "I agree it's important, but the sarcastic sweater just seems like a bit much."

"Calm down, you two," Byron said, taking the pan off the heat, and serving the fish. "Aria, I doubt Mike meant that the feminist cause is an issue, because it's not. What's an issue is the sexist world we still live in, even when we have gotten so much further in many other fields. And Mike, Aria is allowed to wear whatever she wants, as long as it's not too revealing because then she'll give her old dad a heart attack, okay?" Byron smiled at them, seemingly happy that he had diffused the argument before it blew up properly. "Now sit down, dinner's served."


End file.
